


The Old Flame

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a thousand years Thor and Tyr have competed in everything. In battle, for fame, and even over women. When Thor learns that Sif has been in a secret relationship with Tyr, he starts feeling the itch to compete... He finds himself torn between the life he thought he wanted and the one he thought he'd left behind, while Sif is caught in the middle of something she has frustratingly little control over. Something that might affect more than just the three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I read that Tyr had been cast in The Dark World, I wikid him. The wiki told me that he was 1) a rival of Thor's, and 2) a suitor of Sif's. Even granting that we're probably talking silver age comics where everyone was out for Thor's woman and Thor was always having to go "NO, SHE BE MINE," it inspired me to write a fic where Tyr incites Thor and Sif to hook up in the MCU.

"I only think a week's celebration in his honor is uncalled for," Thor said mildly, seating himself at a curt gesture from his mother. She glided up behind him, her fingers winding into his thick fall of hair.

"Oh, I am sure of that," Frigga responded, a smile tugging at her lips. They were both dressed for the occasion, Thor in his resplendent armor and best clothes and red cape. But Frigga's somber mood was betrayed by her own choice of finery: her gown was a shade of dark gray, almost funereal in appearance, yards of the rich fabric spilling down her back and tucked around her hips, her figure silhouetted with silver trim. She was attending a festival, but she was also mourning the son who could not attend. Still, she put on a good face, continuing blithely, "And the fact that it is Tyr being honored has nothing to do with it."

"Nothing!" Thor insisted.

Frigga's hands deftly separated the top layer of his hair. She pressed, "So if this triumph were Volstagg's instead of Tyr's?"

In spite of himself, Thor hesitated a long beat. He could not help but imagine Volstagg's pride in his achievement and in the recognition of the public; the way his face would light with pleasure, and how he would preen like an enormous vain bird... The excitement and admiration of his wife, their children... And how betrayed they would all be if Thor took away their hour of glory.

Then he complained, "The comparison is unfair, for Volstagg is a friend whom I would _wish_ to see honored, of course! You must choose someone I have no care for."

His mother chuckled, making short work of the little braid and then tying it off at the back of his head. "You will go out there and feign enthusiasm, even if you lie through your teeth to do so. Do not let your childhood rivalry interfere with your duty to the throne. Tyr's victory is an important one for all Asgard, and you are to be Asgard's king soon." Her hand dropped, stroking his neck fondly, imparting comfort before she drew back again.

He did not protest again, though the words sprang to his mind immediately. She was right -- this was his duty, as the heir of Asgard, and he was no longer the sort of callow youth who would shrug off that responsibility and allow his personal desires to determine his actions. He had to think of Asgard.

But he wanted to tell her, ached with wanting, that it was nothing so petty as a boy's rivalry giving him pause now.

It was true that he and Tyr had grown up at odds. Tyr's family was an old and prominent one in Asgard's hierarchy, so revered that many Midgardians had thought him a son of Odin, and indeed, he had been encouraged to train and socialize with its royalty. As young men they had been both contentious friends and friendly rivals, depending on day and mood. Tyr had been recognized young for his bravery and skill, while Thor had been struggling to be seen as more than merely a prince; and when Tyr came to be known as a god of fierce justice and valorous battle, Thor had been envious of those grand titles, more impressive and admirable than 'god of thunder'. Tyr had often been jealous of Thor, as well: once Thor had come into his full strength he could manage to best Tyr in single combat more often than not, and -- more chafing -- because the bright and bold Lady Sif had preferred Thor's company to Tyr's. They were both competitive by nature, and so their friendship had been all but mandated, but their rivalry inevitable.

It made sense for Frigga to assume that he still felt himself in contest with Tyr. The other god had returned home after a successful campaign, winning Asgard a much-needed victory over the fire demons. He was to be praised and welcomed as a hero. All of Asgard would make that assumption: that Thor resented that Tyr was the one receiving the attention. Few would expect that Thor resented the very victory they celebrated -- for more reasons than he could even rationally express.

So much rejoicing, all because an ancestral enemy that Asgard had fought long before any of them had even been born had been vanquished yet again. Was such a meaningless, ephemeral triumph truly exciting? It would only cause their fiery enemies in Muspelheim to loathe them still more, and rally for another devastating attack on Asgard in the future. Were the fire demons not also people, who celebrated and grieved just like the Aesir? It seemed heartless to declare a week's holiday to celebrate what another realm mourned, pretending their losses meant nothing. Would not true heroism in this long cycle of war be to find a way to end that struggle forever, in a way that satisfied both sides? Was that not the only way to protect them, short of complete annihilation?

Tyr was a god of glorious battles and swift, merciless justice.

Thor's only quarrel with him now was the merit of the same titles that he had once envied.

But he also knew from a thousand years of experience that peace was much harder than war, and that sometimes the fight could not be avoided, or was a necessary action. As Asgard's king, he could not be known to shrink from conflict, or to be reluctant to go to war. It was every inch his duty to applaud Tyr's victory as a feat worthy of festivities, and to smile and embrace him in acknowledgment of his heroism.

So Thor swallowed his objection, and smiled at Frigga. "How are you always so right, Mother?"

"Common sense, my dear." She smiled, and he saw her weariness in the lines around her eyes and her turned lips. She was no more looking forward to the celebration than he was. He had been right not to burden her more with these thoughts. Frigga's hand found his, and he squeezed it gently. "Now, we should be ready. Walk me to the throne."

It should have been Loki's right to walk with her, with Thor following behind them. But Loki was imprisoned, sealed away where he could do no more harm to Asgard. Thor spared a thought for him, unhappily, and decided that later he would go to see his brother, and tell him what news he could. Perhaps he could even share some of his thoughts on his struggle with Tyr's victory. He kept hoping against hope that someday, if he confessed to enough of his shortcomings, showed Loki that he regretted his past and was changed, Loki would let go of the resentment and bitterness that Thor had unknowingly created in him. That he would begin to heal.

The vastly more likely result was that Loki would mock him for his inadequacies and failings. Still, he had to go. He had to make the effort.

They stepped out into the warm sunlight of Asgard's great palace square, hung with banners and lined with tables for feasting. The nobles in their brightest garb lined the staging area, with the ever-stoic Einherjar forming a barrier around the edges. Beyond all of them were the common people, Asgardians lifting their voice in cheers, louder as they saw their queen and her son make their way down the open plaza. Thor made sure to turn, taking them all in; smiling and waving as they made their way down to Odin's throne.

Odin sat tall on his seat in his own regalia, legs spread wide and Gungnir in his hand rising above his horned helmet. He looked on impassively, the same lack of expression that Thor knew well from centuries of ceremonies such as this; no matter the occasion, joyous or tragic, reflective or simple, Odin was always the picture of composure. Thor and Frigga bowed to him properly, and then separated; Thor to Odin's left, and Frigga to his right. Then the Warriors Three, the king's elite guard, joined Thor; then Sif strode down the aisle, alone and head held proudly high, and joined Frigga on the other side of the dais. Tyr's family followed after her, and joined them.

When the king's court was fully assembled, Odin wasted no time, slamming Gungnir's cap against the floor, creating a booming sound that reverberated across the plaza, silencing the crowd.

"We are gathered here today, to honor and commend our heroes, the brave warriors of Asgard," Odin began, his voice heavy. Thor glanced at him, curiosity getting the better of propriety. He thought that Odin, too, felt the weight of the alleged celebration, the deaths that it had inspired, and that eased some of his own tension.

Perhaps later, he thought, he could speak to his father on the matter. Odin would have the wise words for him that Loki would not give.

"Our forces, under the courageous leadership of one of our greatest commanders, Lord Tyr Hymirson, have secured a great victory in Muspelheim. Through their efforts -- the attack of some months ago in the outer reaches of Asgard has been avenged."

Odin paused as a roar went up from the crowd; even some of the Einherjar joining in for this one. When they had finished, he lifted his free hand.

"Come forth, Lord Tyr, and your warriors!"

Thor watched the procession with no small amount of pride for the men who marched into the plaza -- brave men who had lost comrades and risked life and limb to safeguard their kingdom, and this was their moment of triumph, deserved. Perhaps, in retrospect, seeing them like this, he would not have been able to deny any of them their glorious welcome home.

But there was amusement, too. At their head was Tyr, the same as ever. He was tall, broad and powerful; his black hair worn in two thick braids over his shoulders, and his armor was freshly burnished, gleaming gold. His gaze swept the royal dais, lips ever so slightly curved up at the corners, as if wanting to make sure they were all watching him. Thor met his eyes, and they both broke into grins.

It had rarely been an unpleasant sort of rivalry.

The front of Tyr's troops drew up to the dais and then knelt as one to the king; the action swept out behind them in a wave, each row kneeling in a smooth rippling motion. Thor made a private note to tease Tyr about how they must have practiced it later.

"Is that a new hand old Battles has there?" Thor heard Fandral murmur just below him. "Ooh, how thrilling for him! He had a new fake hand made for him out of gold while his men waged a war on his behalf."

"Still your tongue," Hogun's voice told him in an undertone. He did not care for jests at the expense of those who had just returned from the battlefield as heroes, and he had always approved of Tyr in particular.

They all went silent as Odin rose to his feet. Then he began the litany of victory: naming the battles waged, the total dead on both sides, the particularly heroic feats committed. Unsurprisingly, Tyr was named in several of them: he had saved many lives, felled many foes, and at one point held a pass single-handedly for thirty-six hours until reinforcements could arrive. A worthy feat for any Asgardian, but no surprise from Tyr, god of valorous battle.

Odin asked him, "Have you anything to say, Tyr?"

Tyr rose to his feet, and for a moment he just stood there, standing above his returning troops. Then he simply lifted a hand to point.

"A bit melodramatic, isn't he?" Volstagg rumbled.

Thor followed the line of his arm to its destination, and thought at first, _Ah, he points to his family._ But Tyr's family turned, looking behind them; Frigga glanced down; each of them seeking the one that he was pointing toward. They all focused their attention on Sif.

It took Thor aback for a beat, and then Hogun suggested quietly, "He pays tribute to the goddess of war for his victory."

A reasonable explanation, and Thor was reassured by it. Even Sif's reddening face he thought could be attributed to self-consciousness at being called out in such a public manner. But their theorizing was dashed as Sif stepped away from the queen and the family of the honored, trotting quickly down the stairs with her gown whispering over each step. Wordlessly, Tyr shifted his arms and they embraced, to the murmurs and then applause of the assembled crowd, even Tyr's own warriors.

Thor stared, dumbfounded.

Volstagg gasped, "I'll be damned."

"Didn't think the old boy had it in him," Fandral agreed, raising his hands to join the applause.

"Is Sif involved with Tyr?" Thor hissed at them.

"Not to my knowledge, but it certainly does look that way, doesn't it?" Volstagg said.

Hogun was silent, and Thor could not see his face; it didn't matter. His attention was back on the pair at the center of it all. Sif had drawn back, smiling up at Tyr, and settled under his arm as they both turned to face Odin.

"Just that I am happy to be home again, sire," Tyr said, his free hand on his hip. A laugh and a cheer went up again from the spectators.

"How could she not have told any of us?" Thor asked, hushed. He was irritated to feel as if he had been kept ignorant; that Sif had deceived them, or been worried to tell them. Why should she be? Because he had once been rivals with Tyr? Ridiculous.

He barely heard the rest of the ceremony. His attention was on Sif, how she stood by Tyr's side, Tyr's arm slung over her shoulder casually; how she very deliberately did not look away from Odin to see the reactions of her friends.

But she could not avoid them forever, and once the banquet had begun, Thor climbed quickly to his feet to go to her. Hogun reached out to catch his arm, and Volstagg said uncertainly, "Now, now. Let's do nothing hasty. It would be a shame not to enjoy this magnificent spread!"

Fandral was more direct. "Sit down, Thor," he said, sober. "You will start a fight going over there like that."

"Like what?" Thor protested immediately, although he reined himself in by sheer force of will, sinking down into his seat again.

"You look like thunder," Hogun said.

Thor looked up and for the balcony doors instinctively. He could see the dark clouds gathering outside, dulling the bright cheer of the midday sky, and he self-consciously sought to tamp down on his irritation. "I just feel that she should have told us," he said, stiff. "Does she think so poorly of her friends?"

"If you go over and _ask nicely_ why, you may find you have better luck than if you demand to know how she dares to keep secrets," Fandral suggested, and took a long pull of his mead.

Thor glanced at her, not far away but apparently rapt in conversation with the queen. "Those would not have been my words," he said again, but more mild. His agitation was hard to deny, when even the sky had echoed it.

"You and Sif are a match in temper," Volstagg said, shaking his head. "If you yell at her, she will yell right back, and then you won't speak for a month. We don't want that kind of fuss, now do we?"

Fandral straightened quickly before Thor could compose a response to that and lifted his goblet, crying, "Friend Tyr! We were _just_ discussing you."

Thor straightened abruptly, turning to look and mustering a smile; he was grateful to Fandral for calling the man over -- for warning Thor of his presence, rather than just letting Tyr drift closer while Thor was obliviously discussing his relationship with Sif.

"I assume Thor says only the _best_ about me?" Tyr said, a smirk taking his features. He brought his good hand down hard on Thor's shoulder, almost threatening to wrench it from its socket.

Thor laughed, reflex. "You are a hero this day, Tyr. I would never say anything less."

Hogun nodded his agreement, and said, "Stay, have a drink with us."

"If that's all right?" Tyr looked at Thor, eyebrows lifting; Thor had no choice but to nod. Then Tyr settled into the seat beside him, saying, "Then just the one! What have you been talking about?"

Thor cleared his throat, and looked to Fandral. The blond man said merrily, "About your happy conquest, of course. The _intimate_ one." His eyebrows lifted. "How long has _that_ been going on?"

Tyr chuckled. "A conquest worth celebrating, given how long I have fought that battle. Centuries, at least." And he paused, his gaze darted to the side, finding Thor, measuring his response.

Thor kept his smile high. "Ever since we were boys," he agreed, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

The answer seemed to hearten Tyr, who lifted his goblet in salute. "Aye. Though I backed off for a time, to respect your victory over her heart... After Sif ended things with you, I approached her again, and she made very clear that as a friend I was welcome to offer condolences, but she wanted no more men baying at her heels." He laughed heartily. "Violently clear!"

_Baying at her heels...?!_ Thor took a long swig from his mug. He reminded himself that those words were from seven hundred years ago. And that for whatever reason Sif had decided against being involved with him romantically going forward, she obviously still cared about him enough to remain friends all that time. She did not find him so terribly tiresome. And it would be very like Sif, after all, to put a tough face on her thoughts, to square her shoulders and bluff out a cocky excuse to a man she did not wish to see her true feelings.

Even though... it seemed that now, she had chosen to share those feelings with Tyr.

"I must confess I was wondering," Fandral was saying with a roguish grin, in response to a prompt that Thor no longer could recall.

Tyr drank from his tankard, and then set it down again, tale not yet done. "We remained friends all this time, but no more than that. Until a few months past, when I came across her sitting by a fountain, alone, and looking... so beautiful. I went over to see if perhaps she wished to share her thoughts with an old friend, and then she challenged me to a spar." Tyr chuckled again, turning to cast a fond look over his shoulder at where he had last seen Sif in the crowd, though she was no longer in sight. "When I won, she told me that -- she would _consent_ to my courting her." He turned back around, the smile on his lips proud. "We have been together ever since."

"A romantic tale!" Volstagg said avidly, and approvingly.

It wasn't _that_ romantic, in Thor's opinion. If anything, it sounded a little forced -- as if Sif had sought him only because she had decided to have _someone_. And what was she, a prize? Ridiculous. And if she needed to test Tyr's worthiness, could she truly have feelings for him, or was she simply settling because he passed her expectations? Her somewhat _low_ expectations?

Thor's fingers slipped blindly over the sides of his goblet. "A few months back, you say," he mused.

"Not long after the Bifrost was repaired," Tyr confirmed.

And then all sorts of foolish thoughts crossed Thor's mind. _Was she bored, or lonely? I have spent so much time visiting my friends on Earth that I have not had the time for adventuring and bonding with my friends here, not the way we once did. And, also, since my banishment, our number has been down from six to five without Loki among us. Perhaps she feels estranged with all that change from our comfortable routine. I could bring her with me next time I go to Earth! I think she would like Rogers and the others. She seemed to like Jane! Yes, and Jane... Sif has never had any close female friends. I was remiss not to introduce her to Natasha and Pepper. I imagine she would like the ear of other women, to share secrets with, and they could offer her advice, perhaps even talk to her about Tyr..._

Thor realized that Hogun was staring straight at him, piercing dark eyes steady and lips thinned. When their gazes met, Hogun shook his head, once, curtly.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Well, I offer you all my congratulations," Fandral said easily, leaning back on the bench. "Truly, you have done what I thought impossible! I had begun to think the Shieldmaiden of Asgard dedicated to becoming a maiden once more. She is harder to court than a valkyrie!"

"At least you're already dead by the time you get to see one of those fine women," Volstagg joked. "With Sif, the specter of death awaits behind every misstep!"

Tyr laughed along with them. "Fierce though she undeniably is, she has yet to try to kill me."

"Perhaps 'tis a bad sign," Fandral said, sage. He gestured with his glass. "If she were honestly serious about your relationship, it seems like she would be willing to kill you over it, does it not?"

"Oh, I assure you. I have every intention of being serious enough for the both of us," Tyr said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "She will decide for herself then."

The others made movements of surprise and gave him vague expressions of congratulations, and Tyr brushed them off, saying, "Not yet. But -- in the future."

"I do not understand," Thor said, looking to his friends.

There was a beat before Volstagg said, his tone bright, "I believe our good Tyr has just confessed his desire to take Sif as his wife."

...Ah. Thor cleared his throat, shook his head, and smiled again. "That seems a little fast, but I wish you well on it. Perhaps she really _will_ kill you then."

"Near a thousand years is not _fast_ , Thor," Tyr countered.

"The thousands more you may live as husband and wife are far longer. You have hardly tasted what actually being together with Sif is like; I would think you would want to give it time!"

"You _would_ think that, but I don't intend to dally around for three centuries before taking action."

"Centuries with someone you care deeply for is not wasted time," Thor argued, irritation growing in his chest.

"Not wasted, but also clearly not permanent. Perhaps with the _right_ man, she would appreciate a sign of conviction." Tyr's dark eyes were narrowed.

Thor was dimly aware of the other side of the table, where all of the Warriors Three were signaling him with various levels of discretion, each urging him silently to stop before he and Tyr were grappling to put each other in a headlock. He didn't want to stop, though. _Smug_ Tyr, that had always grated on Thor's nerves about him. He took such endless pleasure in doing things better than Thor, showing him up; Sif was no better to him than a fine sword or a... a celebration in the name of his heroism!

But his mother's words prickled at the back of his mind. _For Asgard, as its future king._ He could not create a scene with the man of honor at the first night rejoicing in his gloried return.

Thor made himself laugh, settling back in his chair. "That is -- always a possibility. Allow me to be the first to wish you luck, Tyr. You may need it."

And then Tyr, too, seemed to come to himself, clearing his throat and settling back. His lips did quirk up at the corners. "I may. Perhaps you had best... help me prepare?"

"Oh?" Thor asked, interest caught.

"Tomorrow morning, in the practice ring." Tyr lifted his eyebrows. "The fire demons were as nothing compared to Sif's wrath, so I had best keep on my toes in case she does decide to kill me."

"It is a match, then. Gladly," he said, and he meant it more than he was comfortable with.

Then Tyr finished his glass and got to his feet, hurling it to the floor. "Speaking of my lady, I should go to find her. I know you lot are given to spending time with her, but I would _not_ expect to see her again tonight." He laughed again, and strode from the table.

A thoroughly awkward silence fell.

And then Fandral laughed quietly, resting an arm on the table. "That was so _uncomfortable_!" he marveled.

In spite of himself, Thor felt answering amusement turning up his lips, and he drained his goblet, and set it... very gently back down on the table. Volstagg was chuckling and even Hogun seemed to be hiding a bit of relief. But the dark man said, firmly, "You must _not_ take this grudge outside the ring."

"There is no grudge," Thor said, defensively. "We will spar, like he asked. That is all!"

"Thor, he is right," Fandral seconded, sobering up. "You absolutely must not allow Tyr to get to you, no matter how he antagonizes you. This week, he is untouchable."

Thor scowled. Untouchable, because of his great victory! Untouchable, except by Sif, much to Tyr's crowing pleasure...

Volstagg shook his head, sadly. "Look at him. He's already spoiling to go back and put a fist in his face." Volstagg banged a hand down on the table, causing it to jump under them. "I, Volstagg the Wise, will be your ever-watchful comrade, advise you on all your missteps, and counsel you on your anger!"

"Oh, this will be fun to watch," Fandral said, leaning on his hand.

But not fun to live through, Thor imagined, slumping down in his seat, and thought darkly that if Sif had told him -- somehow -- none of this would ever have happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif has struggled to find happiness, but there's no winning -- what makes her happy ends up making the people around her unhappy. To end this balancing act, she turns to someone who was a master of it... among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fandral backstory mentioned in this chapter was established in the comics canon at some point. I loved it so much that I adopted it.

Sif woke to a warm hand curving over her shoulder and she couldn't help the quick smile that crossed her lips. She turned her head to the side, folding her arms and leaning her cheek against them, and made a small sound of approval with eyes still closed. Tyr lowered his head to give her a faint kiss.

"Will you lay about in bed all day, or will you wake with me?" he asked.

"I do not _lay about in bed_ all day," Sif told him, laughing quietly. "Ever." As comfortable as it was to lie here, sprawled on her stomach and luxuriating in the warmth and the comfort and the aftermath of last night's pleasure, she would be up soon enough.

She had a whole day to face... No, people to face. She could not run from them here in this room for any longer. She had made a promise that if Tyr returned with his grand victory, they would attend the celebration as a couple. He had certainly managed a grand victory, as well as a grand _revelation_ , both to the delight and amusement of all Asgard -- even if she had not expected quite so public or prominent an unveiling. She was painfully aware of everyone who must have been left with questions, but if she had been a braver person, she would not even have retreated here without first addressing what needed to be done.

"Why are you up so early?" Sif asked, rolling onto her back to look up at him. Tyr's hair was still loose about his shoulders, disheveled from sleep, and he was not yet dressed. She lifted a hand to press to his chest, stroking the hard, unyielding muscle, and then skimmed her fingers to the gold cap at the end of his left arm, where his hand would have been. "I heard myself the king commanding you to enjoy your newfound leisure time."

"I have enjoyed it so far," he told her. His eyes were very appreciative on her, and Sif stretched out for him, to show that she appreciated his appreciation. "But I promised Thor a round this morning."

Sif faltered, curling in on herself again and frowning. "A round with Thor? Why? Did he ask for it?"

"I proposed it." Tyr shrugged. "Things have always been tense between the two of us. I thought, a good match would be to both our benefit. Being reunited with him always makes me itch for a fight..."

She sighed, uncertainty fading to irritation. "You promised me there would be no competing."

"No competing," he agreed, though he sounded unrepentant. "There is no need for it now, anyway." He smiled slowly, ducking his head again to kiss her. "For this is my week of glory, and _you_ have chosen Tyr over Thor."

Sif lifted a hand to his shoulder and shoved him back before his lips could make contact, asking coolly, "That is what you call not competing?"

He chuckled and took the rejection in good spirits, getting up to find his clothing. Still, she found that her own humor had faded, and she was left, not for the first time, feeling vaguely guilty and rather disheartened. Sif pushed herself upright, raking fingers through the long fall of her hair.

If Thor was preoccupied, there were still others she should speak to. The queen, for instance; Tyr had made quite a spectacle of them during the ceremony yesterday, and doubtless Frigga, whom she considered a friend, would want to speak about it. The Warriors Three -- she had told only Hogun that someone had her interest, and she had not told him the name of her companion. Doubtless they would feel betrayed.

Sif had told herself over and over again, during the past few weeks, that she was not hiding anything; she had nothing _to_ hide. She was an adult and could bed whomever she liked. Tyr was a good man and a powerful warrior worthy of her attention. He treated her the way she wanted to be treated, and respected her the way she wanted to be respected. It had been a long, long time since she had indulged in more than just pleasant interludes -- a real relationship. She'd had every right in the realms.

But somehow it had never come up, and they had never been in public, and Hogun... She had just coincidentally never mentioned Tyr's name to him.

Sif sighed, rubbing her temple with her hand, and then got to her feet as well.

"I will see you for dinner?" Tyr asked her, twining his arms about her waist in one last embrace before they headed out the door. "They are having another feast tonight. I heard it will all be fire-grilled dishes." His grin was broad and fierce, enjoying the reminder and celebration of his victory. She ordinarily enjoyed that ferocity.

"Yes, I'll be there," she said with a quick smile.

It had been so much easier when she did not have to worry about what anyone else would say, even knowing that she had nothing to hide. Sif headed for the dining hall where she often took breakfast, fully expecting to meet _someone_ there.

She was not expecting to run into Fandral on his own. Hogun would have been her preference, if only one; she and Fandral enjoyed their bickering, exchanging nasty words with friendly smiles, but Hogun's minimalist efficiency and willingness to mind his own business was just what she needed. Yet it was gossipy, chattery Fandral she met, legs crossed as he idly peeled an apple with a knife. He tossed her a sunny smile as she entered. 

"Good morrow," he said.

This was a disconcerting turn of events. She glanced around, and then lifted her eyebrows at him. "Is this a trap? Are you here to distract me while Volstagg and Hogun prepare for the Wench's Brothers?" 

"Not that the Wench's Brothers isn't a wonderful tactic! But I have laid no trap," Fandral said cheerfully. "I'm only here to pass on a few friendly warnings."

"A few... warnings," she repeated, her surprise turning to a scowl. She put a hand on one hip, impatient. "Well, please do go on. Are you here to tell me I haven't the right to choose a partner without seeking the express approval of a majority of men who presume to know what's best for me?"

Nothing ever made Sif so stubbornly root down as someone presuming to tell her what she could and could not do. So in a way she was a little disappointed when Fandral immediately laughed and told her, " _No._ I like my privates right where they are, thank you kindly. I wanted to warn you that I have reason to believe that Thor might be on something of a tear."

Sif relaxed immediately, with a groan. She would save her agitation for later; apparently she would need quite a lot. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Fandral spread his hands with a helpless look. "You must understand that it brings up old rivalries..."

"That is why I told Tyr that I would not tolerate any manner of childish competition."

"No offense, my dear lady, but it's not all about _you,_ " he said, if anything more cheerful than before. "This is bigger than any of us. This is bigger than the realms itself. This is _Thor_ and _Tyr_!"

Sif rolled her eyes. To illustrate his seriousness, Fandral set his boots down off the nearest chair, leaning forward on his knees. He explained, "Tyr spent the better part of a thousand years feeling you had chosen Thor over him, and now he can't help himself but gloat a little. And Thor now feels the tides have turned, seeks to compete with him, becomes... Well, becomes jealous."

"You are jesting," Sif said, flatly, feeling heat slowly creeping up her neck.

He lifted his hands to demonstrate his innocence, apple and knife still held in each respectively. "It's nothing personal, mind! You and Thor are done, he knows that, and he completely respects it. But... seeing Tyr playing with one of his old toys kind of makes him remember how much fun he had with it, and now he wants it back, even though he has many newer toys."

An old... toy. Sif took a long, slow breath, and then told him, "Now, is this... what you say to your lady friends? Because I do not think it is working on me."

Fandral shrugged, with a wry smile. "Yet it _is_ an apt metaphor, since they're both such overgrown children, don't you think?"

She had to concede that point, if grudgingly. "I understand that they want to spar and see who is better. But you're saying that bad feelings will stir, because -- because Thor will convince himself that he wants something Tyr has?"

"I am saying that I fear their squabbling will _continue_ ," he corrected, "...because Thor will convince himself he wants something Tyr has."

"He has _Jane_ now!" she cried, frustration heating her. "I thought... I thought things were going well with her!"

"As far as I know, they are. But Thor does not always operate on reason." Fandral turned the apple over in his hands, and admitted, "If he did, he might not be entertaining a romance with a mortal at all."

Sif was quiet for a moment, before she said, calmly, "Well -- what should we do about it?"

" _Do_?" He chuckled. "Damage control, mostly. Make sure they do not start a feud, grown men lashing out at each other like little boys. Volstagg and Hogun are both standing by like nursemaids to make sure they play nicely together in the arena this morning. But what can we do, other than wait it out? Tyr is a hero of the realm, Thor is its prince."

So they would allow Thor and Tyr to go at each other, time and again, until they tired of it. Sif accused him, "This is a terrible plan!"

Fandral brought the knife to the apple again, the smile slipping from his lips. "Yes, well... We were never the ones who had any knack for manipulating Thor."

He didn't need to say Loki's name; they both thought it. When Loki had been among them, such manipulation had in fact been in their arsenal. Though they were all vulnerable to Thor's enthusiasm and energy, even Loki, he had sometimes been able to craft ideas that would bend that enthusiasm and energy to their favor. When Thor was at his most inflexible and unreasonable, Loki had almost always found a way. He had known just what to say, just how to say it, so that it seemed like Thor's independent decision.

Maybe he still did.

Sif shook her head, reluctantly. "There must be something else we can do."

"Well, it may all be moot, after my other warning." Fandral took his time delivering it, allowing a beat of silence to fall while he peeled the rest of the apple's skin in one long curving slice. "...Tyr is serious about you, you know."

"I know."

Fandral looked up at her, sober. "Very serious. He told us that in the future, he would consider asking you to marry him."

Sif shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable, and after only a heartbeat of trying to think of what to say in response to that, Fandral was on his feet, expression already growing incredulous.

"And _you_ would consider accepting!"

"Is that so hard to believe?" she countered, flushing now. "What is so wrong with Tyr, that you cannot imagine that?"

Fandral was perhaps the worst person to have this particular conversation with. He had a curious sense of nobility and, in truth, more than a little romanticism in him. His wide swath of lovers did not include even a single wistful young newlywed in an arranged marriage or neglected noble's wife. He took marriage seriously: a sacred union not to be entered into lightly.

Once Fandral had been married, to a mortal woman. He had stayed faithful to his mortal wife for the sixty long years of their short life together before she died peacefully in her sleep, and to this day centuries later he still visited the spot on Midgard where she had been buried.

So she should not have been surprised when he immediately demanded, "Well, do you _love_ him?" in his most incredulous tone.

Sif refused to give herself away with another guilty silence, so she responded with the first thing off the top of her head: "He isn't asking me right _now_!" And then she winced and looked away, angry at herself. Guilty silence might have been a better response.

Fandral set his apple aside, stepping closer to her and reaching out to grip her arms, a move she quickly ducked. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, gentling his tone so that it was less accusing. "Centuries of resistance to Tyr's advances, and now I find you contemplating marriage to him, when you know you do not love him?"

This was not at all where she had wanted or expected this conversation to go, and she hated it. She channeled her anger into a glare. "I _care_ for him," she snapped. "We are friends, and I trust him, and I like the way I feel when we are together. Who is to say that with more time, if I give him the chance, I will not come to love him? I spent so long turning him away, and he has already made me this happy!"

"So happy you all but spit at me when I ask you why you would marry him," Fandral murmured, unshaken. There was pity in his eyes, and she wanted to put her fist in his face until she stopped seeing it.

Many marriages were not love matches, she wanted to say; even Odin himself had chosen to marry for political reasons, and see how well that had turned out!

And who was punished when she held out for perfection from the start? Only Sif. By giving herself room to grow to love someone, she had many more paths to happiness.

And she was so tired of waiting, and being alone, and regretting choices she couldn't take back.

She shook her head, wrestling with all of that, and let out an unsteady breath, calming herself. She finally said, only, "He knows that he wants to marry me. But he is not asking me _yet_. There is still time for me to decide how I feel, and what I should do. Your warning, while unnecessary, is appreciated."

The dismissal was unmistakable, and for once, Fandral took the cue. "Well," he said, stepping away again, and cleared his throat. He had been shaken by the conversation almost as much as she had. It was small comfort. "It was my mistake, really. I assumed that you were not yet ready to join our... small cadre of married folk."

The fact that he still considered himself married, the way that Volstagg and Hildegund were married, made it hard to look at him after what they had just discussed. Sif swallowed, hard, and then said, "Thank you. For telling me about Thor."

And she turned on her heel and left, quickly, half-running from the source of her discomfort, and only when she was safely away did she slow down and curse herself for a coward. She was no _good_ at this. Sif didn't know how to evaluate her feelings or speak her heart. She was not an eloquent speaker, with the ability to use words to get across her desires and win over those around her.

That was... Loki's talent.

Sif slowed further, and then stopped completely.

_Damn_ her weaknesses.

But she held out until she received a messenger some time later, with the polite warning that Tyr had been injured in sparring practice and she should proceed to dinner without him on the off chance that he needed some extra time to recover from his wounds. Then her tense meeting with Fandral was forgotten, and instead she found herself conflicted, half-frustrated and half-guilty over the 'rivalry' that still haunted these two grown men. Those thoughts occupied her all the way to the cell where Loki was being held.

The guards let her in, confiscating her weapons and waving her down the corridor beyond them. When it opened up again, she had to squint against the darkness inside.

It was a nice enough cell, or so she could just barely make out around the one small glowing light source beyond its bars. It illuminated a rich tapestry and comfortable divan, a thick tome set on the table with the glow; Loki was nowhere to be seen.

"Well," said his voice, from the darkness on the other side of the cell; Sif jumped and spun around to see him, eyes widened as he drew closer to smile at her, slyly. "Look who has come to visit me this time."

Sif scowled briefly, and said just, "Why is it so dark in here?"

Loki shrugged. "I like having only the one lamp lit. It tends to... draw the eye."

Of course. Stupid mind games, designed to keep his visitors off-guard. She shook her head. Loki had always liked to play such petty pranks and arbitrary tricks. Harmless mischief, she had always thought. They had all thought it. Until he had arranged for Thor to be banished and then sent the Destroyer to kill him, sought to wipe out the races of giants, and gathered an army to attempt to conquer the mortal world.

Intellectually, she knew those were the worse crimes. But in the back of her mind, she could never forget those horrifying heartbeats when Thor had lain so still, life robbed from his broken mortal shell, and the universe had seemed a far darker place than this cell was now. That was his worst crime in her heart, and she looked at him now and could not understand how he could do that to Thor, who had loved him so much for so long.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Lady Sif?" he asked lightly. "Appeals to my better nature? Pleas for a few words of strategic advice in a ground war?"

Sif let her lips thin. She didn't know why she thought he would take this seriously; on the contrary, she imagined he would laugh long and hard when he heard of her plight. "I don't know," she confessed.

"Let me guess," Loki said, leaning against the bars of his cell, arms draping casually out into the hall. "...Your relationship with Tyr has come out, and Thor has become irrationally jealous, and you worry about the consequences for them both."

She sucked in a breath, staring at him. He had been kept here in his isolation for months and months, without access to or news from the outside world. How could he even know that she was _in_ a relationship with Tyr, much less the specifics of the situation as it stood this morning?

"Where did you..." And then she cut herself off, muttered, "Thor." Of course he visited Loki; of course he told him everything. Had he been here last night? She reminded herself to ask the guards about Loki's visitors.

"Some people were obligated to at least pretend they don't feel better off without me," he said mildly, eyes lidding.

"If we are better off without you, it is only because you have made yourself that way," she told him, her voice harsh. "We always valued having you with us. Even _now_..."

But she couldn't explain it to him, and didn't really want to. The way that she had felt, and Fandral had felt, when they thought about the newly-revealed gaps in their skill set; when they had thought, if only Loki were here to help... She didn't want Loki to mock that. Loki had always craved recognition, to be the center of attention. Telling him that they were at a loss without him would only delight him.

Sif looked away. Loki only watched her, lips curved up. "We could just talk about your situation, if you like," he said, solicitous.

She scowled again, but she was here now, and he knew what she wanted to ask. The worst thing that could happen was that he would laugh at her and refuse his help. Wasn't it?

She said, slowly, "Since you know the situation so well already... what would you say? What would you do, to make Thor back down and be reasonable?"

Loki chuckled, lifting a hand back through the bars to run fingers through his hair. He lingered over the words as he responded, "Before I answer that question, I must ask you to remind me... _why_ , exactly, I should do anything but laugh heartily while your wonderful king-to-be drives you ever closer to a full-on power struggle among the great clans?"

Sif's jaw tightened, and she snapped, "Because Thor _loves_ you! You are his brother, and his dearest friend, and he would die a thousand times over if it meant saving you from this madness! What reason do you have to _not_ help him?!"

"Why don't we just say that I have 'learned my place'," he said, coolly, unmoved by that plea. "But since it is the Lady Sif who asks the favor, perhaps I should alter the question. Why should I help... _you_?"

"You owe me," she hissed, and he laughed again.

"Such touching words of friendship!"

"They are all you have left me with." Sif's shoulders tensed. "After everything you've done, after the way you treated me when we were children -- like I was an obstacle in your path, an enemy you reviled -- _I still trusted you_ when you seemed to want to be friends. I gave you my friendship and I held nothing back, asked for nothing in return! And you used me _again_ , betrayed all of us as if we meant nothing to you." She struggled to swallow when all she wanted was to reach through those bars and shake him until his teeth rattled. "I proved my friendship time and again, and you have never done anything you did not believe was in your best interests! Well, perhaps for once it is _your_ turn to prove yourself, instead of just taking advantage of the free ride you got for being Thor's brother and a prince of the realm!"

The smile had slipped from his face, and he considered her, long and silent. Sif had no idea what he was thinking; he had always been a cipher to her, unreadable. But she did not regret her words, even as utterly divisive as they had been. She had allowed Loki into her life after he gave her every reason to believe he could not be trusted. He had been rude to her, taunted her, snuck into her room and sliced off her hair while she slept, and still she had found the will to be good to him, to treat him no differently than she treated any of her other friends, with the same cheerful teasing and unspoken support. Thor was not the only one who would have given his life for Loki.

And it hurt to think of how little hundreds of years of friendship had meant to him.

Loki said, "All right."

That took her by surprise, making her straighten self-consciously and frown.

"In that case," he mused, tilting his head back, "I must know what result it is, precisely, that you want."

"What does that mean?" she asked him warily.

"Do you want Thor to back off and leave you alone?" He spread his hands. "...Or do you want him to step up and take Tyr's place?"

Sif startled back a step, her heart suddenly beating fast. "Why would I want that?" she demanded, a trifle louder than she'd meant.

Loki sighed. "Please," he said witheringly. "Thor might never have understood why you left him, and Thor might have believed you when you said you only wanted to be friends. Maybe all those other fools out there bought into your story. But _I_ am not a fool."

She pressed her lips tightly together. He spoke of a truth she did not even like to admit to herself, one that had haunted her for seven hundred years.

Because one day in the middle of living a happy dream with her prince, she had been awoken to the realization that she would never make a name for herself if she stayed by Thor's side. She would always be seen as _Thor's woman_ , and her power would not be respected. People would speak no ill of her -- not because she was a proud warrior who had blazed a path of her own, proving wrong all who thought she could not, but because to do so would be to speak ill of the prince's beloved, to risk incurring _his_ wrath.

And then she had been forced to choose between the man she loved and the future she had always wanted for herself.

Would she had done it differently if she could go back? Probably not. But did she wonder what her life would have been like if she had made another choice? Always.

"That was a long time ago," she said, as cold as she could manage.

Loki lifted his eyebrows and said nothing.

He would make her say it. Sif straightened her stance and said, irritably, "And I would like for Thor to back down. I have made my choice, Loki."

He did not look convinced, but he shrugged, apparently unwilling to argue further. Then her chest tightened, ached; it felt a tiny bit like she had lost Thor all over again, like maybe she had wanted Loki to call her out on that lie as well, and she swallowed disgust at herself.

Loki said, "If all you want is for him to leave you and your lover alone, the answer should be obvious, shouldn't it?"

"If it were obvious, would I have come here?" she asked, jaw tightening.

"I know that your first instinct when confronted with a problem is to bludgeon it until it stops being a problem. But since that method won't work here, turn on your brain and try to think of something that might." Loki leaned forward again, all earnestness, except for the sly smile playing at his mouth. "Go on. Brush the dust off and try to think..."

She had no obligation to stand here and be insulted. Sif turned on her heel, frustrated, and started to head out. She should have known it would come down to this.

He let her get all the way to the stairs before he called, "Get him to go see Foster."

Sif turned to look back at him, wreathed in his darkness. She did not let up her frown, and folded her arms under her breasts. She didn't say anything in return, waiting silently for him to continue.

Loki sighed, no doubt quite hard done by. "Thor is a simple man, and he is easy to distract. While he is here, in Asgard, with you and with Tyr, it is natural for him to feel more strongly about what matters the most here. A thousand years is no small thing to brush aside. But when he is there, with her, he will remember how important she is to him, and when he returns home the edge of this new competition will have been worn down. He will remember what he has now, instead of what he wants to take from Tyr." He flipped fingers at her, as if inviting her to contemplate this idea.

She was wary of it, of course. She did not know what he thought he would gain from it -- and she worried that he _might_ gain something from it; perhaps by sending Thor away? -- but it did make sense. If nothing else, being with Jane would remind him how happy he was with her, a happiness that Sif had no desire to ruin. And then... perhaps she would be permitted to find happiness for herself, as well.

Even if it hurt, in its own way.

Loki saw her concession in her face, and he smiled. "Now, was that so hard?"

Sif flushed angrily, and turned away again.

"You're welcome," he drawled, and that gave her some pause. She stopped, hand on the railing, one foot already on the next step, and then took a moment to think before she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it truly. She had not expected him to help.

But when Sif stepped out into the sunlight and looked up at the sky, blinking rapidly as it threatened to blind her, she did not feel as if she were in a better situation than she had been without his help. If anything, she felt more lost than ever before.


End file.
